The First Time
by TazoClarity
Summary: A story detailing Zeus' rape of Hera, what ultimately led to their marriage. Mainly Hera's POV. This story in no way romanticizes rape, just digs into the myth of Zeus disguising himself as a little bird to capture his queen. It is a dysfunctional tale.


A/N: Just having some fun… I love Greek mythology, always have. And Zeus/Hera don't get nearly enough love. Probably because they're so dysfunctional. And too many portrayals of Hera are ridiculously harsh, so I'm just putting it out there.

"Do you remember when I first saw you?"

He says that after they've had sex one night, as he's studying her flawless face and the timeless, distinctive violet of her eyes that only she and the other daughters of Cronus possessed. She had finally given in to him again after months of fighting, much to the relief of the other gods. Things in Olympus never ran too smoothly unless Zeus and Hera were on better terms. And here in bed, Zeus revels in what he believes is her forgiveness, but what Hera knew to be just a moment of weakness, of relenting. She considers his question, and she does remember.

When he had saved her, and Hades, Demeter, Hestia and Poseidon and she all emerged from the depths of their father's stomach, wet and blinded by all of the sensations of the world. Things were so bright and in motion and the sounds were loud, but varied and all around her, piquing every sense. The world was new to her, and in the midst of all of that wonder was her younger brother, standing golden, proud with his contradictory dark looks. Heard in the thunder and armed with lightning. She remembered when he first set eyes upon her. And he was the first thing she touched in this new world, when he looked down at her from his imposing height and she looked back with fierce eyes filled with promise, ready for him to lead her and ready to fight alongside him. And his eyes softened infinitesimally as he touched the strands of her damp hair and said "Sister."

"There is nothing else on earth or in chaos like you…" he murmured in the throes of passion, because he would never utter it otherwise. Now, they fill their days yelling, glaring, even exerting physical force on each other. She'll hit him (he will take it, usually) or he'll grab her and crash her against the wall, anything to silence the other. Their natures are quick to violence and their lives stressful, as all of Olympus looks to them and functions on their command.

But she knows he means it, even as he strays from her into the arms of other women, mortals and minor gods, and says horrible things to her and about her and no one dares go against his word. She is trapped. And impossibly, she loves him.

He remembers when he first laid his sky-blue eyes on her. But she remembers when she first _saw_ him too.

She hadn't felt him watching her above the clouds as she went for a walk on earth, enjoying the solitude, and escaping his increasingly fervent pursuit. Looking back on it, perhaps she should have known that he'd be watching her. Because when he had decided he wanted her, it was at the exclusion of anything else. And that is what no one ever understands: she never had a choice with him.

He created rain and put it in her path and she continued walking, shivering minimally. She had chosen a more simple form of dress for her trip to earth and only wore a chiton that day. It clung to her form as she brazened her way through the storm.

It was not long after that a small bird caught her eye, trembling terribly in the unfortunate weather. The sight of it engendered incredible pity within her and she gently picked it up, stroking the top of its small head. The creature made no move to escape, seeming to sense her friendly intentions. She thought to walk a ways with it, until the rain subsided at least, and she clasped it to her breast, just on the fringes of the inside of her chiton, to keep it warm.

He had barely waited a moment before bursting into his true form, towering over her with raw, uncontrollable intention in his eyes. It took her a moment to realize what had happened, and how he could be standing there, and he took the time she puzzled it out to trace her face with a finger, lightly. "Hera."

His voice rumbled like an affectionate undercurrent of the storm he had created, and she was suddenly struck with this whole stage he had set here, the rain, the cuckoo, and them quite alone, no mortal within a day's journey.

Shaking in earnest, she said not a word to him, and turned away, intending to flee. But his movements were as alacritous as light and he had her arm before she could move.

"Let me go!" she cried, now desperate to get away. She had seen his eyes already. She knew what he was going to do, and she knew that he would not be stopped this time.

He snapped to life with her struggle and pulled her into him, until every part of his body was against hers, heat coming off of him with all his strength and tension. "Peace," he commanded her, though it was low and almost a suggestion in response to her fight. He didn't soothe her. He didn't assure her that he was not planning to do what she clearly thought he would do. Hera had found herself that she was rarely wrong about these things. But she had never so wished to be wrong before.

He made no move to kiss her yet or touch her the way she knew he was waiting to do. But he held his restraint tight as a newly-strung harp and kept her locked close until she tired out, or more likely, until she gave it up as futile. She thought of all of the times that he had approached her after a council meeting, and the way her siblings would watch as he pleaded with her, claiming that she was the only one powerful enough to become his wife, and he loved her, he was devoted to her. She saw Poseidon's careless amusement, Hestia's sympathy, Hades' furrowed brow and Demeter's grim agreement with her refusal. They all knew what she did: that Zeus would be incapable of keeping her content, for all of the ways they were an excellent match in power and leadership ability.

"Zeus!" she protested in the cage of his arms, trying to pull her head away from his chest to allow her to reason with him. But he only smiled at her plea and kissed her forehead, firmly, and then dip down to the shell of her ear, his lips tracing the soft edge as he held her still. To her, nothing more than a cruel way to begin his violation of her. The heat in his touch was nearly unbearable. "No, brother! Don't. Please!"

"Don't call me that," he said, his smile fading a little as he pulled back again. "Hera…" he shook her, impatient to make her stop her useless struggles "You will be my wife. Stop fighting."

"I'm will not!" she spat, still trying to wrench herself away breathlessly. She tried to humble herself, thinking that it may affect him where nothing else would. "My king…Zeus, please do not do this."

"You will be _my_ queen, Hera." His word was the beginning and end of all things. He was the king of the gods and clearly, he had waited long enough for her to play these games with him. He was calling an end to it. But he looked down at her with an almost rueful turn of his lips. "Yield now, I beg you. You have left me with no choice."

She snorted rudely at the irony of his words, nearly ceasing her battle against his powerful arms. He begged her? She couldn't believe his pride had even allowed him to say such a thing. When he had never begged for a thing in his life? She left him with no choice? Yet, it was she that was being held there, forbidden from escaping, feeling his checked lust and the threat of his presence in her immortal bones. Did he think that he was being reasonable?

"I've waited for you," he told her. "I've been patient, but it has been long enough. You are mine."

She let out a terrible scream that caused the very ground to quake, but he shoved his palm against her mouth, killing the continuation of the sound. "Enough, Hera! You will be a queen when this is over. I swear it to you."

And with that constant promise in her ear, he tore at her clothes and quelled her resistance with his lips and touched her the way no man or god had ever done before. She could see that he took some pains to be gentle, but the loss of her virginity was painful and humiliating. Cries of "no" were a steady, imploring stream on her tongue. No one should have forced her. And no one would have dared but he.

He didn't apologize when it was over, for he felt justified in what he had done. He cuddled and caressed her as she cried into his warm chest, exhausted and weary with the inevitability of it. He had shamed her into accepting marriage to him. She had no avenue to seek comfort in _but _him, the god who had caused this pain for her and who wrapped her up in his hot embrace.

He didn't apologize, but he held her and she cried until she finally slept. He didn't move, just watched her sleep, the tears dried on her cheeks. They lay there, unclothed on the hard ground, their bodies still wet from the rain and the coupling. If he felt any regret, he didn't communicate it. "I love you," he justified to her while she couldn't hear it. And he tenderly kissed her where he could see that she had wept, feeling bad that she had to suffer to accomplish their permanent union. "And I will have none but you."

By the beginning of the new year, Hera bore Zeus a son named Ares. And his tempestuousness was a reflection of his violent conception, or so the new young queen believed. The arrival of the little god was a celebratory birth, yet he was not the heir to anything, for the king of the gods would endure forever, unlike his baser mortal counterparts. And Hera and Zeus' son was christened the god of war, adding him to the pantheon and making nine.

"Of course I do," Hera remembers the first time she had seen Zeus in the light, reflecting all that he was. It wasn't the same, but they had both been wet, trembling in relief and in passion. She keeps her face neutral, so he won't know the day in the wood that had come to her mind. "Had I known then…"

"What?" Zeus demands, sitting up a little in the bed to cover her in his shadow. Whenever she implies that she wishes that she had never married him, he gets angry and won't entertain it. If she keeps it up, his rant will most likely become violent, bellowing so loudly that it would shake the very foundation of Olympus. But then, she thinks to herself, he hadn't raped her since that first time. So she didn't really care about his anger. Sometimes she thought that there was nothing worse than that act. He was frowning at her, the afterglow broken. "Would you have never married me?"

"I don't see that I had a choice," she says after a long pause. She looks away from him and he slumps back into the bed as well, the pair of them staring up at the same ceiling.

"Perhaps not…" he admits after a moment. It is only a moment later that he justifies it, unable to help himself. "But I did not ordain it, Hera. It was fated."

She laughs, still staring up. Mockingly, she slides her hand into his and squeezes. "No, my mighty lord and master? You did not command it be so?" Her mirth continues for another second, bitter and unsurprised.

He then knew what she had been thinking, and the idea of it stopped his speech momentarily. He hadn't thought of that in a long time, and he hadn't realized that she ever thought of it either. When he disguised himself as a bird and raped her in the woods, millennia ago…

They had been together for thousands of years now. What transpired was nothing more than a blip of that time. He could still remember the feel of one delicate, white finger as she stroked his cuckoo-form on the head, and the sweet warmth of her breast when she held him there. How she had cried out and fought when he had forced her to submit, and how she never stopped fighting. She was fearless and relentless no matter who or what her enemy. The beauty of those fierce eyes as they met him for the first time, and her soft, white hands in his, and he had to will himself not to show her favor then, above his other siblings. Not yet. And her eyes had never lost their fierce power—even when turned on him or his illegitimate children.

His features suddenly relax and smiling to himself, he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses it with something as close to reverence as could be from Zeus.

"I love you," he says. "And I will have none but you."

She is awake to hear it this time. And impossibly, she loves him.


End file.
